


Killing Me Slowly

by EclipseWing



Category: Psych
Genre: Don't use this story as a reference of information, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really know much about them, Set sometime late season 6, Symptoms of said terminal illness, Visions, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where does the line between science and magic blur? Where does vision become hallucination? Shawn gave up caring years ago. He can help people. That’s all that matters.</p><p>[AU in which Shawn is really psychic. It’s not a good thing.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Me Slowly

He wakes slowly.

Groggily, almost. It’s always like this after an episode. His limbs feel like lead and there are aches that may be bruises forming already. The floor beneath him is hard, despite the soft carpet that covers the floor. It tickles his cheek, and his eyelids feel heavy, slipping back into blackness.

He forces them to stay open, blinking a little at the light and rolling over slightly. His skin feels cold and clammy with sweat. There is carpet pile pressing an indent into his cheek so he lifts his head, gazing around the familiar shape of the Psych office.

Granted, he’s never seen it from this angle before. Not even when he once spent a week locked away here marathoning TV shows and films with Gus. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the peeling paint white ceiling.

There is a creak and a rush of wind and Shawn’s first instinct is to sit up and pretend everything is normal. He makes it about half-way up before the blood rushing to his head has the room fading in and out of black.

“Shawn,” Gus stops in the doorway, “What are you doing on the floor?”

He tries to think of a witty reply. He dropped the last Skittle. He lost the phone again. His brain is too slow to think of one though, and that? That’s how Gus knows something is wrong.

“Shawn?” he’s by his side in an instant, fingers on Shawn’s wrist taking his pulse and another grabbing a torch from somewhere.

“I’m not dead, stop trying to take my pulse,” Shawn pulls his wrist away from his best friend, “And where do you keep that?” he leans away and squints at the torch, “I don’t have a concussion,” he says.

Gus lowers the torch reluctantly, “It happened again, didn’t it?” he asks, “That’s the third this week, Shawn!”

Shawn tries to pretend he can’t hear the worry in Gus’ voice, just uses his desk to lever himself upright, “Fourth,” he corrects, because he can lie to himself about this, but he can’t lie to Gus.

His friend follows him up, hovering as if he expects him to keel over any minute, “You need to go see the doctor again,” Gus says.

Shawn waves him off, “I told you - I’ll be fine.” He knows Gus doesn’t believe him. He never does. But right now? Shawn has more important things to worry about. “Can I have a lift in to the station?”

“We don’t have a case!” Gus says, following after Shawn as the pair head back outside, “And you? You really shouldn’t be going anywhere, not after that. How long were you there, Shawn? The whole night? You could have…”

“Jules and Lassie have a case,” Shawn declares over his friend. He doesn’t like to hear that word, knows it’s inevitable and doesn’t want to even known about it, “And I think I know just how to help them crack it!”

 

“Oh no.”

Juliet’s partner glares towards the door, “Incoming,” she warns him, but he’s already seen Shawn crossing the precinct making a bee-line towards them with Gus trailing after him.

“What now?” Lassiter asks, crossing his arms in preparation of whatever Shawn’s going to say. Juliet thinks he’s trying to anticipate Shawn, but she’s learnt that’s impossible.

“Hi Jules,” Shawn grins at her, “Lassie! I have a break in the case for you.”

“You weren’t assigned to the case,” Lassiter glares, “Besides. We have our killer.”

“Da-ad!” Shawn whines. Actually _whines_.

“You’re hired.” Spencer senior is lurking by the coffee machine.

Carlton rounds on him, “What even is the point?” he sounds frustrated. Then again, that’s his go-to voice when dealing with Shawn Spencer.

Juliet crosses her arms and takes a moment to survey the psychic. Shawn looks a bit ragged, she thinks. It’s barely noticeable, but his hair is slightly ruffled and spiked in the wrong manner, and his clothes are the same ones he was wearing yesterday. They’re heavily creased, as if he maybe slept in them. “We’ve got our suspect,” she tells the pair, “The case is solved.”

“See!” Gus hisses at Shawn, “You’ve dragged us here for nothing.”

“No,” Shawn shakes his head, one hand flying in a familiar gesture to his head, “I had a vision. The girl is innocent.”

Juliet pauses and even Carlton stops to listen.

“It was dark,” Shawn says, and his voice is deadly serious, “Night-time. A man - old, slight beard, grey hair, wearing a yellow and black tie - he was walking along the landing when…” Shawn’s clenched fist opens as he says, “Flash! Lightning strikes, lighting everything up. In her room, the girl sees two shadows, and then it all goes dark again. Then another lightning flash and they’re both gone.”

Slowly, triumphantly, Shawn lowers his hand, “The old guy is found dead. He fell - or someone pushed him - off the landing. You’ve convicted the girl, but you should be looking for the second shadow.”

“How did you know that about the tie?” Carlton demands.

“You’re saying Carla Menzies didn’t kill her grandfather for the inheritance?”

“She’s twenty-one,” Shawn scoffs, “What would she want with an old house?”

“And the twenty-million that comes with it?” Juliet says, “We’ll look into it, Shawn. But she didn’t say anything about a second shadow.” She turns away, hearing the pair leave. She grabs the transcript of the interrogation to go over, before deciding it’s probably easier to just ask the girl again. “Come on,” she tells Carlton, “Shawn’s just found us more work to do.”

Carlton is still frowning. “But how did he know that about the tie?”

 

“How did you know about the tie?” Gus asks him furiously in the car, driving to the old house.

“You know how I know about the tie,” Shawn answers back.

“How do you know that I know how you know?”

Shawn blinked, “Gus, that didn’t even make any sense.”

“Yes it did,” Gus snaps back, too angry and worried to think of a better come-back. Shawn’s his usual self, acting as if nothing is wrong.

That makes it almost worse.

They pull up on a gravel drive, the house looming up in front of them. Shawn bounces out of the car, heading towards the door, “Do you think they have a butler? I bet he did it, the butler always did it!”

The person who answers the door is not a butler, but a middle-aged woman. Shawn claps his hands together in childish excitement, “Oh and you’re the mother!”

“I’m sorry?” the woman blinks, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Shawn Spencer and this is my partner, Gee Buttersnaps…”

“You’ve already used that one, Shawn.”

“I have?” there is a brief moment of worry and fear on Shawn’s face, as if he genuinely can’t remember. Gus covers it up, because that’s what he does. He’s the best friend, the only one who knows…

“My name is Burton Guster,” he smiles charmingly and holds out a hand to be shaken.

“She’s married,” Shawn points out.

“I was just saying hello!” Gus snaps.

Shawn spins back to the woman, “Miranda Menzies? I’m a psychic detective working for the SBPD, and I believe your daughter is innocent.”

The woman’s face collapses into relief and just like that, they’re into the house.

She leaves them to look around, Shawn claiming psychic visions or whatever. Gus watches how his friend scans everything, gaze roving critically over the walls and ceiling, completely serious and at work right up until-- “Oo, look, Gus! Cupids!”

“Those are putti, Shawn.”

“I thought he was the Prime Minister of Russia.”

“No, that's Putin. And he's the President.”

“I've heard it both ways.”

“No you hav-- huh, he actually was Prime Minister at one point…”

Shawn dances around the house like a puppy on crack. Despite everything, he still has the eidetic memory and hyper-observational skills to put to use. Inevitably they end up on the upper landing, peering down to the front hall. “So he fell here,” Shawn frowns, leaning over the banister. Gus pulls him back, “Which means,” Shawn carries on, relentlessly, “That here--” he stops, looking around, then continues, “--was where they struggled.”

“That means that was Carla’s room,” Gus point to the door nearest them just opposite one of the stair cases. There are two, both leading down in an elaborate half-circle and meeting again at the bottom either side of the door. It’s grand. It’s elaborate. Gus kind of wants to own a house like this.

Shawn tilts his head at the door, then walks over and pushes it open.

“Shawn!” Gus hisses, “You can’t go poking through they rooms! We’re guests!”

“Stay there,” Shawn says, “No, wait, step forwards and a little to the left.”

Gus does so, even as Shawn vanishes inside the room. There is the sound of a creaking bed and rustling fabric and Gus can see Shawn has just thrown himself onto the bed in the room, “Shawn!” he protests.

“I can see you, buddy, loud and clear.”

“It’s… never mind,” Gus can’t see what Shawn’s getting at, but Shawn is obviously thinking something over.

“Step to the right, one step,” he says.

Gus does so, and Shawn slides out of view.

“Aha!” Shawn slides out of the room in triumph, “That’s why Carla couldn’t see the second shadow! Her door opens the wrong way - she could only make out her grandfather!” He comes to a stop crouching down next to Gus’ shoes, “Which means the real killer was standing right. Here.” He points to Gus’ shoes.

Gus yelps, leaping away from the spot. “Shawn! Why didn’t you tell me I was standing on a murderer’s footsteps?”

Shawn is making measurements on the floor, looking at the carpet pile with a small grin on his face. “About eleven inches long,” he decides, bounding back up, “What shoe size is that, Gus?”

“Eleven and a half,” Gus says, because Gus knows those sorts of random facts.

“Huh,” Shawn says, “Mrs Menzies!” he bellows out, heading down the stairs. Gus follows after, “What happened to your husband?”

She’s in the kitchen baking the most delicious smelling flapjacks that Gus has smelt in years. There are some cooling on a rack nearby and Shawn gestures towards it with a jerk of his head. Gus sneaks one, then a second into his pocket as the wife loads another tray into the oven.

“He passed away,” she says, straightening. She looks sad, but then again, she might just be a good actress, “Three years ago. Cancer. Carla was devastated. I think that’s what inspired her to do pre-med…”

“But she struggled to pay for it…” Shawn prompted. Gus wonders if there were bills or loan letters in the bedroom which had given that away.

Miranda Menzies nods, “Yes. My father-in-law, he was… somewhat of a believer that you had to make your own way in life. Despite having the money, he wouldn’t help out Carla at all.”

“But surely, living here…” Shawn gestured around, “Wouldn’t you have plenty of money?”

“Oh no,” Miranda shakes her head, “We’re just staying here - our house has rats and the exterminator is taking the week to clear it out.”

Shawn and Gus nod in understanding. “Thank you for your time,” Shawn shoots her a winning smile.

“Oh, take one of my flapjacks,” the lady gestures.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Shawn and Gus both help themselves and begin munching them when they’re not even out of the room. By the time they’ve reached the front door Gus is pulling out the other two he stole and passing one to Shawn.

“These are--“ there are the sounds of crumbs spraying everywhere, “--amazing--“

“I should get the recipe,” Gus agrees, somewhat more refined that Shawn as he brushes crumbs of oats off him. “Well, I don’t see what that achieved. The girl had motive, means and was in the right place.”

His best friend shakes his head, “There was somebody there. I’m certain of it.”

“How certain?”

Shawn just shoots him a look.

 

“I am sensing something!”

Shawn jogs into the middle of the precinct and shouts at the top of his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches his father’s head hitting the desk and Lassiter jumping for his gun, then relaxing. Even Karen Vick appears in her doorway.

Once sure everyone’s attention is on him, he continues, “There is a girl - in our lock-up - who in innocent! _Innocent -_ I say - of the crimes she is being accused of!”

“Shawn…” Juliet opens her mouth to interrupt and Shawn thinks nothing of taking a step to his left, turning to her and putting a finger on her lips, stopping her mid-word as she blinks, almost comically at him.

“Just a moment,” he tells her, voice dropping before he continues again, louder, “Carla Menzies is innocent! She--“

This time Lassiter interrupts him, “She’s got motive and she was right there. How can she be--“

“Uh uh!” Shawn shakes a finger, “You think she murdered him for the money. But why would she jeopardise her chances of a future?” he takes half a moment to let that sink in; “Carla Menzies had just gotten accepted into med school! A scholarship - a full ride with costs included. She had no need of her selfish grandfather’s money!”

He loves the way Lassiter’s face falls and Juliet dives for the computer. Shawn steps closer, even as the rest of the precinct begins to drift off, tired already of his antics. Chief Vick has wandered over, and even Henry is still hovering. “He’s right,” Juliet says, first, “She got a full ride. She had no reason to kill him.”

Shawn waves his arms in a mix between a ‘you see?’ gesture and ‘I’m right!’ Gus rolls his eyes next to him, “Did you have to announce that to the whole precinct?”

“Gus, I can’t control what the spirits want to say,” he makes up. It’s not like Gus didn’t know. He explained how he found out everything to his friend already. He turns away, so as not to see the worry in Gus’ eyes.

“Go release Miss Menzies,” Chief Vick tells Lassiter who, grumbling, heads over to do so, “Are you two hired?” she asks Shawn and Gus, but looks to Henry who nods, “Good. I want you to begin looking for who might have been the real killer…”

Instantly Shawn’s finger flies to his head, “I’m getting a man… shaggy hair, tall, shoe size ten and a half--“

“Eleven and a half,” Gus corrects.

“Eleven and a half!” Shawn shouts to cover. His head turns as if looking at something, even though his eyes are tightly shut, “He’s a relative… he’s in photographs in the house… a son, no, illegitimate…” he lowers his hand, eyes flying open, “Grandfather Menzies had an illegitimate son,” he says, mind bringing up pictures of the tall, shaggy haired guy lurking in the background of photographs. He has the same arch to his nose that his half-brother does, and there are several pictures of the two of them together, laughing. They had been close. But not close enough so that when Carla’s father had died, the half-brother wasn’t beyond staging the daughter so he could get the cash he rightfully deserved.

“Look it up,” Vick gestured to Juliet, “I want-- what is it, Carlton?”

She directs the last to Lassie who has appeared looking harried from the direction of interrogation, “The girl,” he says, spitting it out and looking furious, “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Vick demands.

“The lock is open. She’s not there. She escaped.”

Shawn exchanges a look with Gus, “This just got a lot more interesting.”

 

Lassiter grumbles as Spencer sniffs around the unlocked door. The door that was supposed to be locked, “And nobody saw her sneak out?” he demands of Buzz, who stands looking sheepish behind him.

“No sir…”

“And the cameras?” Lassiter asks.

“They went off - some sort of EMP fuzzed the signal.”

The surly detective’s fist slams out, hitting the wall, “Dammit!”

The Chief, needless to say, isn’t pleased when they gather in her office to report everything they know. “How exactly did you lose a suspect?” her voice is a deadpan.

“Well, she wasn’t actually a suspect anymore,” Juliet says, cautiously, “We were going to release her… Shawn had a psychic vision that suggested there might have been an uncle--“ she consults her notes, “--half-uncle, Anthony Menzies, who had more motive and reason than the girl.”

Carlton doesn’t believe in psychics, and he narrows his gaze suspiciously at where Shawn is, unusually, by himself. He looks around for Guster automatically before remembering that the other had gotten distracted by the coffee machine. He could see why - Shawn’s fingers were tapping against his arm impatiently and he looks about to fall asleep. Dark bags under his eyes and clothes that smelt unwashed suggested he was still wearing the same stuff he was yesterday.

Spencer was also answering Chief Vick’s questions with a sudden fatigue, as if all the energy has drained out of him already.

Lassiter looks at his watch. And it’s not even twelve o’clock yet.

“And your ‘ _vision’--”_  the Chief sounds just as sceptical, “--it didn’t tell you she was going to escape?”

“The spirits don’t work that way.”

“Convenient,” Lassiter mutters. His partner glares at him sideways, while Spencer just ignores him entirely. He’s frowning, as if working something out in that crazy head of his.

“She didn’t escape,” he says suddenly and as casually as if he was talking about the weather.

“What do you mean ‘she didn’t escape’?” Juliet looks surprised, “That cell was clearly empty!”

Spencer shakes his head, looking like he was completely aware of everyone gazing at him expectantly. Spencer likes that sort of thing, being the centre of attention. Lassiter hates that. “No… there were scratches on the outside of the lock… it had been picked from the outside… and how would she fuzz the cameras at the right moment…?” Spencer seems oddly desperate. He’s shaking, as if in anticipation, but he looks pale. Lassiter wonders if he’s going to throw himself around Carlton’s neck again. He hopes not.

“You’re saying she had _help_?” Juliet, as always, plays along with the vision.

“No,” Shawn shakes his head, and looks about to say something further when he cuts himself off with a gasp. He’s shivering, gaze distant and out of focus. One hand goes to his head, as if about to have a psychic vision, but instead it sinks into his hair, pressing down as if in pain. The movement is accompanied by a small moan.

“Not again,” Lassiter rolls his eyes, preparing himself for whatever vision is about to follow.

For a moment Shawn’s eyes flicker and focus on him, “It’s not,” he mutters through clenched teeth, then presses his eyes closed, “There’s too much…” he shakes his head, body going slack. He collapses to the ground. Hard.

Lassiter frowns, because he’s caught the psychic checking the floor before throwing himself around previously and this? This is different.

Spencer just drops to the floor, curling up. His muscles tense, and then tremble. His whole body is trembling, seizing… “Oh, god,” O’Hara starts forwards, “Shawn!”

“Leave him,” Lassiter says, grabbing her shoulder, “He’s faking it…”

“What--“ Guster enters, holding two coffees, “Shawn!” He drops one of the cups, the other landing on the table as Gus moves forwards in alarm. And this time? There is no exasperation, no amusement or laughter in his voice. There is nothing but genuine concern in him as he moves instantly to where Shawn is seizing on the floor, completely and utterly out of it.

This isn’t a joke. Not this time. This is serious.

“Call an ambulance,” Lassiter jumps into action, instructing O’Hara, “Now.” There’s a sense of urgency because suddenly, something has changed. Gus hovers at Shawn’s side, trying to roll him over while avoiding the thrashing limbs.

“No,” Gus says, as Juliet makes to grab one of Shawn’s hands, “Don’t hold him down.”

“It’s not that…” Juliet’s deft fingers find and grab one of the bracelets on Shawn’s hands. “This… it’s a medical alert bracelet.”

“Has this happened _before_?” the Chief demands.

Guster looks pale. Nervous. His lips press together in a thin line and he doesn’t say anything, probably out of some misguided notion of loyalty towards Spencer, but he doesn’t need to.

Juliet is staring up with a pale face, clutching a bracelet, Guster hovers worried and Carlton feels a sudden pit open up in his stomach.

Something here is very, very wrong.

 

They gather at the hospital. Henry paces up and down the corridor, feeling useless. Gus is already there, Gus had insisted on riding in the ambulance and ever since Shawn found out that Henry had been his emergency contact a few years ago, he’d changed it back to his best friend.

Henry feels useless. Like he’s not even allowed a look-in on his son’s life anymore.

Which is rubbish, of course. He works in the same place as Shawn, he had seen his son this morning, bright and cheery and…

…with dark bags under his eyes, ruffled hair and clothes and…

…and he’d ignored it. Written it off as Shawn being Shawn and not looked twice, given him the case…

“Guster, can’t you just tell us--“

“No,” Shawn’s best friend shakes his head, “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?!” Henry feels about ready to just grab Gus and shake him until he spills, but Carlton has been giving the sales rep the evil eye, Juliet has been trying the puppy dog eyes and he knows (and boy does he know) that Gus wouldn’t sell Shawn out like that.

Except maybe for a girl, but unfortunately, beyond Shawn’s girlfriend, there are none available.

“Burton Guster?” the doctor appears, holding a clipboard. Henry steps forwards and the doctor blinks.

“I’m his father,” Henry explains.

The doctor shakes his head, “I’m sorry - I’m only allowed to share confidential details with a Mr Burton--“

“Here,” Gus pushes through, “Is there somewhere we can… can we talk…”

The doctor nods, casting a suspicious look at the two police officers and a worried father before leading Gus away. And Henry? Henry watches them go and has never felt more useless.

“We should get back to the case,” Lassiter says. Neither he nor Juliet make any move to do so.

So they wait.

 

Lassiter is at the point where he’s about to get a warrant. Or at least break down the door and begin flashing his badge, because he’s not sure if a warrant will even get him anywhere. Can you get warrants demanding to see patients?

That’s about when the door opens. He’s expecting Guster or the doctor again - he’s not expecting to see Shawn limp out, looking twice as bad as he did that morning.

“Shawn!?” Juliet stands and Henry makes as if to rush forwards when Gus and the doctor emerge.

“You really shouldn’t--“ the doctor is saying.

“Look, Ted, can you just give me the damn papers already?” Shawn snaps, looking irritated.

“Shawn--“ Gus is complaining, but the doctor produces a set of papers.

“Wait,” Lassiter recognises the forms, having filled them in himself several times, “Are those AMA forms?”

“AMA?”

“Against Medical Advice… Shawn, are you saying you shouldn’t be going anywhere?” Henry demands, “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Shawn shoves the papers back at the doctor, “Seriously, guys, it was nice of you to come all the way down here, thanks for the baskets of fresh fruit and toys, but I’m fine!” He pauses, “Where are all the baskets of fresh fruit and toys?”

Juliet’s face is pale, “Shawn, you had a seizure,” she explains, as if that makes sense somehow, “What happened?”

“Stress,” Shawn lies. It’s obviously a lie, even if Gus and the doctor - ‘Ted’ or whatever his name is - don’t roll their eyes to the ceiling. Henry looks seconds away from assaulting either his son or the doctor when Shawn steps away, “Gus, can you drive me home?” he asks, “I’m tired.”

He sounds exhausted and weak, and that’s probably what makes the other two back off.

“I’m sorry,” Gus says, “But we need to go.” He rests one hand on Shawn’s back, as if he’s still half-expecting his friend to fall over again and the pair begin to vanish.

“Hang on--“ Shawn stops half-way down the corridor, “Wait,” he turns back, “The girl. Carla. She didn’t escape. She was kidnapped. There’s a house - a house with noises in the walls, that’s where they’re staying. Her and Anthony.” His face creases as if in pain, “That’s all I got.”

“A vision?” Henry looks furious, “You’re talking about a damn vision!? Now?”

But Carlton is beginning to see a grimmer picture emerge, “O’Hara,” he says, “I think we need to get back to that case.”

“But Shawn--“

“O’Hara,” he silences her, “Spencer will be fine.” He pauses, then adds, “We’ll check on him tomorrow morning.”

 

Shawn is ill.

It’s all Juliet can think of. She can hardly focus on the case.

Shawn is ill and she didn’t even _know_ …

“O’Hara, focus,” Carlton says through gritted teeth, “We need to find this girl.”

Juliet stares at the board in front of them. A picture of the dead guy - Gerald Menzies - trails down to the son and wife. Paul and Miranda Menzies look happily married, right up until the newspaper report of Paul’s tragic demise, and Carla’s recent arrest.

“We have nothing,” Juliet throws up her hands, “We need Shawn,” she hates to admit it.

“We do not need…”

“He said it was a kidnapping, right?” Juliet says, “Not an escape. And that they were hiding in a house filled with noises.”

“Yes,” Carlton looks mildly annoyed, as if he didn’t believe Shawn came out with anything remotely truthful. But Juliet saw Shawn’s eyes. She saw that unlike his usual joking, unlike his usual scan of a room and announcement of clues, this was serious.

This wasn’t a lie.

Triumphantly, Juliet pins two pictures to the board. The big fancy manor belonging to the grandfather where the family had been staying for the week. Another house where the uncle lives, located right over a kitchen restaurant. She shrugs. Noises in the walls… it is close enough. “We should check it out,” she suggests, “When Shawn comes in tomorrow; we might have something.”

“We might have it _solved_ ,” Carlton grabs his jacket, stalking out.

Juliet knows he only wants this case solved so he doesn’t have to see Shawn sprawled out on the floor seizing again.

She secretly wants the same.

 

His dad finds them.

Of course it does - there are only three places he would go to. Gus’s apartment, his apartment, the Psych office… unless of course he had been thinking straight and gone to his dad’s house, the one place his dad was guaranteed not to be.

Henry looks furious. Shawn knows he’s not really angry, just worried, but it comes across as anger and Shawn responds in kind. “I don’t have to tell you anything!”

He’s sick. He’s fed up. He has a splitting migraine on top of it all and Gus is still hovering around him, as if refusing to leave. He probably won’t - Doctor Ted told him to keep an eye on Shawn and Gus will do that, even if it means following Shawn into the bathroom.

“You don’t actually have to follow me into the bathroom, do you?” he checks with Gus, mid-argument with his dad. Henry grows more furious and Gus tries not to quail under Henry’s glare.

“Shawn! Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” his voice breaks. Just that little bit and Shawn finds himself relenting, wanting to open up, to explain everything…

But he can’t. He’s built a wall, a barrier, and only Gus has even glimpsed inside. He shakes his head, closing his eyes tiredly. The images from that morning still flash through his mind.

“Maybe you should come back another time,” Gus actually ventures to suggest to his father in a fit of bravery.

“Gus, I know you two are close but if this concerns Shawn, it concerns me…”

“But it doesn’t concern you, dad!” Shawn raises his voice, because that is the only thing that is going to get his point across, “This concerns me! Only me! I don’t need the rest of you to know!”

“If it concerns your health and safety then you should be damn well sure it involves me!” Henry shouts back, “Have you ever considered what happens to everyone else if something happens to you? but no, you’re still so goddamn selfish!”

That’s how he leaves, the words still hanging in the air as he stalks out, door slamming behind him. Shawn winces, flinching as if it was a physical blow.

Because his dad is right. Completely and 100%... “Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps at Gus, tiredly.

“He’s right.”

“I know he’s right,” Shawn throws a hand out, “I just… I thought I could get through without them knowing. I thought… I thought I could protect them from that much at least, that maybe I could throw myself in front of a bullet or car before it got bad enough--“

“Shawn!”

“Okay, okay,” he relaxes, backtracking slightly, “I didn’t meant the last two.” Gus doesn’t look convinced, “You know I didn’t mean the last two… right?” his voice trembles slightly.

Gus just sinks down on the sofa next to him, “I don’t know,” he says quietly back, “You’re dying anyway, and sometimes I think you want to go out quickly and painlessly as opposed to the alternative.”

There is silence for a long moment and Shawn watches the sun set through the Psych window. “I’m going to have to tell them, aren’t I?”

Gus doesn’t tell him what he has to do. He just shrugs one shoulder, “I’ve got the scans in my top drawer,” he says, like the good friend he is.

Shawn has never been more grateful for it now.

 

“Are you going to explain?” the Chief asks when Shawn appears in her office the next morning. He looks somewhat better, Lassiter thinks. Hopefully he slept.

“The case,” he says, “First, I need… I can solve the case for you. I… can you just give me a moment to focus?”

“This is ridiculous,” Henry says, “Shawn, you should be in the hospital…”

“No…” Shawn closes his eyes, one hand flying up in the air to silence them, “I can do this…”

“If you can’t…” Guster warns him.

“Just… give me a moment…”

“We went to the house,” Juliet says, “Anthony Menzies’ house - there was nothing there. It was empty.”

Shawn nods slowly as if he can see it, “That’s because it’s not the uncle’s house. It’s the wife’s.”

“Miranda?”

“Yes -It’s not the uncle’s house,” Shawn mutters, “It’s theirs. The rats in the ceiling, scuttling…” his head snaps to one side, face scrunching up in pain. One hand flies to his head, pressing hard against his skull, “Down the stairs…” he mumbles, “s’dark. Cold. The girl is there… the one, two, third step creaks.” He holds out a hand as if pointing, “Carla’s tied to one of the support beams. The man entering the room is… tall. Foot size eleven and a half. Looks worried. Desperate. ‘This isn’t what was meant to happen’…”

“Shawn?” Juliet asks, as if unsure what he can or can’t hear.

The Chief looks freaked out, “Mr Spencer,” she says, “Can you tell us anything else?”

Shawn turns, as if looking over his shoulder, then doubles over a bit, hissing in pain, “It hurts…” he says, “I don’t… it hurts…”

“You can stop,” Gus says immediately, “Shawn, stop it…”

“No,” Shawn obviously disagrees, “There’s more. There’s… a woman. At the top of the stairs. ‘They think it’s her!’ she’s shouting at the man. ‘What did you do?!’ The man - Anthony - he says he did everything she asked. He killed his father. He got Carla out of jail…”

“Who is the woman?” Juliet asks, slowly and steadily. She jumps as Shawn drops to his knees, and Carlton moves forwards before Spencer hits the floor again. This time thought Shawn stays upright, breathing heavily and still seeing. Psychically seeing.

“The mother,” Shawn murmurs, “She… she wanted the money. Wanted to get out of a house infested with rats and cockroaches. So she persuaded Anthony to help, but then it went wrong, the police brought in her daughter… She was going to pin it all on him, but he… he doesn’t want that… they… they’re arguing… he has a gun, Lassie, remember to duck - he has a gun…” For a moment it looks like he’s about to keel over, but then with obvious difficulty he opens his eyes, looking pale and drawn.

“Oh god,” Vick says, then turns to the two detectives, “Go!” she instructs, “Go now!”

“And Lassie,” Shawn says, clutching onto the desk as Carlton moves away, “Don’t forget to duck.”

 

It happens just the way Spencer said it would. The pair are still mid-argument when they arrive. Juliet draws her gun, announcing their presence. She skips the third step, although Carlton doesn’t and it creaks, both the wife and the brother turning around.

The pair are outnumbered, but they still try to escape and Anthony shoots wildly and…

Carlton ducks. The bullet sinks into the banister behind his head, shattering off a piece of wood that slices his cheek. The next second Juliet has the man disarmed and in cuffs, while Carlton touches his bloody cheek in amazement.

“It’s done,” the pair turn up at the precinct with the two suspects in handcuffs and a distraught Carla in blankets to give her statement. Her boyfriend meets her and Juliet and Lassiter leave to report to the Chief.

Shawn is also in blankets, looking almost asleep on the bench, Gus next to him. And Shawn looks ill. Like he’s been sick again or something, but he still pushes the blankets off and stands with a smile upon seeing her.

She kisses him. Because she hates to see him so down and he lights up afterwards in a way that makes her feel a slight bit better about everything.

“Is Lassie…?” Shawn begins to ask when Carlton himself appears.

“I…” Carlton pauses. His cheek is bandaged and Juliet notes the way Shawn’s eyes go to that instantly, “I ducked,” Carlton offers, “You saved my life, Spencer.”

Shawn just shrugs, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And I didn’t believe you,” he mutters.

Shawn just laughs, “Oh Lassie. I didn’t need psychic visions to know you were sleeping with your ex-partner.”

“I--“ The Chief appears, “Am going to pretend I didn’t hear that. But, Mr Spencer, I do want an explanation.” Henry is following her, like a dark cloud of angry.

Juliet expects Shawn to throw them off the scent, or to bounce off with Gus into the sunset. What she doesn’t expect is for Shawn to nod at Gus, and for the black man to pass a brown envelope to Henry.

Her heart is heavy and she feels like she knows what it is going to be, before Henry pulls out the two MRI scans.

“It’s a tumour,” Shawn explains, voice quiet and dull, “The doc called it a benign brain tumour. It’s not cancerous, just abnormal cell growth. It’s located near the frontal lobe. Symptoms include headaches, sickness, seizures, hallucinations…” his voice is too clinical. Too detached, “Visions,” he adds, almost scornfully, bitterly.

“But, your vision was accurate…” Carlton takes the image of the brain scan next, passing only a cursory glance over it before Juliet can finally; _finally_ see what she knows already. A pale shaded grey area in the one corner of Shawn’s brain. The exact spot he puts his fingers too when he has a psychic vision.

Shawn’s laugh is humourless, “I know. They’re always accurate. Scarily so. Sometimes present stuff. Sometimes past. Sometimes future. It varies,” he shrugs, “I don’t know if it’s just science or if its real psychic stuff, but either way it works.” He glances hesitantly at the Chief and his dad. Juliet sees Henry nod, “They don’t always make sense,” the psychic says, “the visions… they’re fragmented. But I’ve got a good memory. A great memory. And I notice things. Little things. Everything. Juliet has new nail polish to match the new shoes she bought. New because they still give her blisters and she’s forgotten to remove the price label under the left sole. Carlton bought Marlowe chocolates from a really expensive store - the receipt is still in his wallet and they are sitting in his drawer, melting, next to the box of paperclips - I had to borrow one, sorry.” He doesn’t sound it. He sounds flippant. Like he’s showing off, like this is what he actually does.

And maybe it is. And Juliet doesn’t know why he wants to anymore, not if it involves so much pain…

Henry’s voice is thick, “But… surely there must be some treatment for it?” He shakes his head angrily, “There are all sorts of treatments…”

Now it’s Gus’ turn to speak, “There are. But Shawn’s refused.”

There is an outcry. Juliet blurts out, “But Shawn!” while Henry makes noises along the lines of “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Are you crazy, Spencer?” Lassiter demands, “You have a brain tumour and you’re not doing anything to fix it?!”

Henry is still mid-rant when surprisingly it is the Chief who raises her voice and shouts, “QUIET!” It follows, almost instantly and she lowers her hands, “Thank you,” she says, “Now I want to hear what Mr Spencer has to say for himself.”

“I’ve said it was a bad idea,” Gus points out, “But he won’t listen.”

“I know my options,” Shawn shrugs, “And the visions are helpful. I can’t… I can’t lose that.”

“If…” Karen speaks before anyone else can, “If you are a good enough detective, even without these psychic visions… then we will still hire you, Mr Spencer.”

He looks oddly touched by that.

“We will, of course, have to change the name of your role…”

“No.” Shawn shakes his head, “I’m not getting the treatment.” He continued before Henry starts talking again, “I can’t lose it!” he says, and this time Juliet sees how serious he is, how desperate, “I’m dying,” he blurts out, and his eyes have a sheen to them that may or may not be tears. She checks with Gus who is sniffling sympathetically, “I’m dying, okay? The treatment options only have a low percentage change of even working. I die either way and at least this way…” his voice drops becoming so incredibly small for such a loud man, “At least this way I can do some good, can’t I?”

“But you can do some good another way,” Juliet gets in first, “You…” she tries to think how she feels. He’s been lying to her, but then he’s been lying to everyone, “You’re still a good detective, aren’t you?”

Shawn shakes his head, “It’s not the same, Jules. You know it, I know it… without this…” he gestures at his head, “I’m nothing.”

“That is the biggest load of--“

Henry clears his throat, cutting Carlton off, “What I think Lassiter is trying to say, is we’ll have you, any way you come. But you need to be alive.”

Shawn’s smile is paper thin and Juliet knows - she just knows - he doesn’t believe them. Gus has a weary expression as if he’s given up arguing at this point, as if he knows what is inevitable. And maybe it is, maybe Shawn knows it to, maybe the pair still aren’t sharing everything the doctor told them.

Maybe there is still more that they haven’t told them. Maybe the pair know that it is inevitable. There are too many maybes.

But the only thing Juliet knows for certain is that Shawn is dying and this time? This time there is nothing she can do to save him.

 

“Spencer!”

Carlton catches him first on his way out. Henry looks like he wants to grill his son, but has more decorum that to do it in the middle of the police station, especially about such a sensitive matter.

“Yeah?” Shawn pauses, bouncing a little on his heels as if he doesn’t look like he’s about to keel over.

“I’m…” Carlton swallows, raises his eyes to the ceiling then looks down at meets Spencer’s gaze, “I’m sorry.”

Shawn blinks, “Pardon?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Carlton hisses through gritted teeth.

“Sorry for what?” Shawn sounds confused, “What are you sorry for?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Okay.”

Carlton watches Spencer walk away, a slight spring to his step, and sure - Spencer might have actually turned out to be psychic - but Carlton had not lost the urge to use the idiot for shooting practice.

 

“How did things go with your dad?” Gus asks, ready with the car and a kind ear as soon as Shawn exits his dad’s house, looking down-hearted, but somewhat calmer and more assured than he was when he went in.

Shawn sinks into the passenger seat, “Gus, have I ever told you what a good best friend you are?”

“Don’t - don’t give me the goodbye speech,” Gus warns, shaking a finger at him, “You know I’m a sucker for those.”

“Are you crying? C’mon son!” Shawn twists in his seat to look at his friend, “Are you going to argue I should try treatment. Again _?”_

Gus blinks away tears, and then frowns, “You didn’t tell your dad you’ve already tried, have you?”

Shawn raises one eyebrow, “Now why would I do that? ‘Hey, dad, you know that option of hope you have that I could be saved, yeah, no, it won’t work, I’ve tried that.’ Buddy, I’ve got to leave him something, some way that he can think he’s right, something to give him fighting. I remember what he was like when mom left and I…” he pauses, “I can’t see him look so defeated again.”

Gus sighs, sliding car into gear, “You still need to get something for those seizures,” he says, starting the engine.

“Wait - we’re not going home?” And Shawn had actually kidded himself that Gus was on his side. Gus didn’t even answer, but the smug look on his face suggested that no - they were not going home. Gus had probably bribed one of the doctors on his rounds and -- “Hang on, do you still even have that job?”

“What do you mean? It’s my main job!”

“I thought Psych was your main job?”

“No, it is not!”

“Hey, Gus?”

“What?” He sounds annoyed.

“You know that I want to spend the rest of my life solving crimes, and I want to do that with you, right?”

There is a sniffle next to him. “You know that’s right.”

 

“Jules.”

She’s the last one he has to talk to. The last one he has to explain everything to. Gus drops him off at her house after his appointment, clutching three more prescriptions and his coat. She opens the door, for once not lighting up with a smile upon seeing him there.

“Shawn! Come… come in,” she steps back, and he follows her in. They’ve been dating half a year already, he already knows his way around her house with ease. He heads to the sofa, discarding his prescriptions by the door.

“Can I start by saying I’m sorry?”

“You lied,” her voice is tense. Sad, but very, very tense. “You know what I think about that.”

“Which is why I want to come clean to you,” he says, “Please, just hear me out.

He’s not expecting the chance to be honest. He’s expecting her to turn him away, deal out a speech like the one she gave her father…

But instead she sits down next to him, ready to listen.

“I… most of the time I’m not really psychic,” Shawn tells her, weakly. He laughs, as if trying to lighten the tension, “Most of the time, I’m a liar and a conman just like--“

“Don’t--“ she mimics what had had done days before, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him, “You are psychic. That’s not a lie.”

“Jules,” he gently pulls her hand down until he’s cradling it in his lap, “I’m living a lie.”

She looks worried. Scared, her fingers curling around his, “Is this a lie?”

“No!” he shakes his head, “This? It wasn’t… I… falling in love with you was never part of the plan. And I should have told you, I should have. So I’ll be honest with you, because I know you like that, even though I know I can’t be that guy…”

“Shawn…”

He finds these sorts of conversations difficult. He dances around, makes weird analogies, but she gets it. She’s here, listening, and he takes a deep breath, clutching her hand like a life-line, “Back when they first discovered the tumour, I wanted it out. It used to be smaller, they had caught it early, it was going to be fine…” Here he stopped, trying to work out how to say it, “It should have gone,” he said, “That should have been it but… it came back.”

“You said it wasn’t cancerous…” Juliet covers her mouth with her free hand.

“I lied,” Shawn says, “I do that. Besides - it hasn’t grown, I was telling the truth about that. It came back and the visions started up again. And I wanted it gone but… I couldn’t go through that again. This…” he gestured around him, “It sucks,” he says, “But this? I can live with this. I can live with doing as much good as I can before the end. I’m good at what I do and… what I do is good. Isn’t it?”

She looks like she doesn’t know what to say. She just rubs her thumb over the back of his hand and leans forwards to kiss him. It’s not romantic or sexual, just reassuring, soft pressure and her presence washing over him.

“Okay,” she whispers, “It will be okay, won’t it?”

“It’s been… I take drugs, try to keep it under control…”

She runs a hand through his hair, stroking it softly, “Is that how you keep this so nice? It’s fake?”

“I’ll have you know every hair on my head is 100% fake. They take them from my back and my chest to make the best wig ever,” he can barely manage to smile at his own joke, but he winces as she tugs his head to check, “Ow, Jules, that hurts.”

“Good,” she says, “Because… I think I could just about understand the psychic thing, and maybe the tumour, but if you were lying about your hair that? That would have been a deal-breaker.”

“Is now a bad time to tell you I can’t bowl?”

“Oh, that’s it,” she leans away, “Deal’s off,” but she’s laughing, eyes glistening with tears and he presses forwards to kiss that smile, searing it into his memory.

And he’ll never forget. Because that’s his thing, he can’t forget.

He can’t forget that he’s dying slowly, and that there is nothing he can do about it. He can’t forget that he is plague to a collection of his own cells in his brain that cause visions of real events in no certain order.

But maybe, he thinks, leaning forwards to hold Juliet close, maybe he can forget about those things just for a moment, and concentrate of what matters.


End file.
